She thought to be the wobbly thread on the clothe of your jacket you hid from your closet long years ago that you ought to remember to cut but immediately forgets. She felt like a hook, a clip or a clasp that you just wanted to find when you ought to need something to be fixed, to hold on to and then leave somewhere else when you are done with it. She sensed that for you she’s one of the heaps of papers on your cabinet that you barely recall the significance of its content. She was the thickest book standing in your shelf that you lazily turn its pages and then abandon it in one corner.
Remember how it felt to never locate a thing when you need it the most at the moment? When it seems so invisible?
Just because something was there all along doesn’t mean that it will be there for so long.